“Not surprising,” said Beddoes. “About Wacey, I mean,” he added hastily. “By the way, after you put me down at Charing Cross yesterday I thought as I was right on top of Vanbrugh Street I’d ring up and find out which bar Wacey had been seen in, then go and look about—I know you said go home. But it was dead easy. I don’t call that work. Just dropped in and started chatting in due time.”

“About Wacey?”

“I may have had a tap on the loaf,” said Beddoes tersely, “but it’s not hollow up there yet. I wafted out a description of Ivan the Terrible, and sure enough, they knew him. New customer, but he’s shown up quite often in the past two months or so. Never any trouble, never started shouting. May have spoken to other customers on the quiet, of course—”

“But no unbosoming?”

“No. And he was last there about six o’clock on the evening of the twenty-second.”

“Our night! He probably went along in the expectation of being met with his cut. I don’t suppose they ever intended to give it to him. After all, why waste money on someone who’s too dangerous to be left loose? They knew from their own, as it happened, advantageous, experience how garrulous he could become.”

“So they tagged him till they could dunk him in the canal,” said Beddoes thoughtfully. “Why let him go from Vanbrugh Street at all? In fact, you’d think that was their real reason for making the assignation, to nab him. Perhaps he took fright and shot out into the Strand before they could catch him. They must have followed him to Bright’s without getting a chance in the crowds—strange luck for him. But again, why not grab him as he charged out of the house? I mean, that must have put the wind up them. An exit like a human cannon ball means something amiss. All the more reason to snaffle him before he bubbled. Remember you thought he’d run out to tell them? I think he was making for us. You know how Russians love to confess.”

“Then why did he go to the Derby Arms? To drink himself up to it?”

“Maybe.” Beddoes paused. “Poor blinking scarecrow.”

Nightingale was surprised by this, from Beddoes. He made no comment. “Have you heard about Richborough?” he asked.

“Tentatively. Who pipped?”

“Pink. That reminds me, I must remember to see that he gets his paltry due.”

“Did he tell you it was the Hampstead lot?”

“Well, he made a point of the name Hampstead, and he always knows what I’m working on. Very considerate.”

“Favourites. How do you do it?”

“I overlooked him once, years ago, when I was taking up a batch. I was as green as a crocus leaf. The point is, he didn’t realise it was an oversight.”

“And he’s gone on being grateful. What time’s the show?”